


Candid

by SunlitGarden



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: City Living, F/M, Meet-Cute, Mindless Fluff, No Smut, People Watching, Photographer Jughead Jones, Strangers to Lovers, blogger Betty Cooper
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-11 22:47:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20161366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunlitGarden/pseuds/SunlitGarden
Summary: Betty Cooper takes a moment to nurture her hope in the dating scene by people-watching by the pier. After attractive photographer Jughead Jones points his lens in her direction, she thinks it's only fair to trade photos and phone numbers.





	Candid

**Author's Note:**

> It's short. It's sweet. It's not incredibly deep. Hope you enjoy it ^-^

People-watching with the intent of appreciating the human form is usually more Veronica’s or Kevin’s speed, but the day has been just mind-numbing enough that Betty needs to look at attractive guys without the strain of finding out they don’t know how to properly punctuate something as simple as a text message. Sitting by the river, she can just sip her iced tea and enjoy the fantasy of brilliant boys who read voraciously and could spend the afternoon writing poetry within a well-worn notebook or on their lovers’ clit with their tongues.

It’s not a deliberate experience in objectification so much as a conscious attempt to see the potential good in straight men again, renew her faith in the fantasy, so to speak. Right now there are a few decent prospects, and not even ones she’d want to sleep with, just ones she wants to see the _ positives _in.

A guy with a really nice butt and dark blue jeans seems to have tunnel vision for his much shorter girlfriend, so much so that apparently he can’t figure out which intersection they’re at. They’re holding hands and huddled over a map on his phone. Maybe he’ll ask for directions or let his girlfriend take the lead. Betty diverts her attention before she can be disappointed by any results.

A dad chatters patiently with his kids, who are all clamoring and fighting with one another. He seems to have a good sense of humor about the chaos. As one of the tiniest ones topples over nothing towards the sidewalk, he shoots his arm out and saves him without a second thought. _ Nice reflexes_, she thinks, toasting to them with her iced tea.

There are some presumably single guys, too. The ones with great smiles, contagious laughs, beautiful faces, stylish hair. All shapes and sizes. It’s nice. It’s good.

Betty already feels a little better. Sitting back on the bench, she mulls over a few potential spins for the _ Small Wonders _blog. It’s her little lighthouse of constancy amidst the chaos of trying to freelance.

She idly goes through her phone wondering if she should snap some candid photos without faces. Maybe the dad would love to pose with his kids. They seem energetic.

The focused gait of someone nearby grabs her attention. She squeezes her cup, clenching her thighs together when she sees a disheveled, slightly sweaty photographer walking across the bridge. He’s got dark wavy hair, a few wild curls bouncing in front of his downturned eyes. A gray beanie hangs from his back pocket, although why he has it on him at all in this weather is a mystery. One hand is perched on the shutter trigger of the professional camera slung around his neck. The way he’s casually dressed in a tank top and jeans with suspenders hanging at his side makes her think he’s probably not a tourist. He knows where he’s going, even if the way he pauses to squint across the bridge indicates he’s on the lookout for a reason to stop as opposed to heading towards a particular destination.

He has swimmer’s shoulders she could grind her teeth on, decent biceps, and a generally supportive sort of frame. There are so many lunges and squats and _angles _he contorts into to get the right picture. She can’t help the fleeting attempt at calculating how many positions he could enjoy with a partner. When he pauses to review his photos, he gets this little curve between his brows that’s somehow _adorable_. 

Feeling her chest heat up, Betty looks away. Her v-neck dress does absolutely nothing to hide when she’s frazzled. It’s almost like sunburn. Sucking down the last of her iced tea, Betty surreptitiously sneaks another glance to see where the photographer is headed. His bright white tank top is like a beacon in the afternoon sun.

Hope is on the horizon.

Betty unsticks her thighs from the bench and stands up to get the blood flowing. The river is really pretty, sparkling everywhere. A themed tourist boat honks along the pass, waving. Grinning at the eager, confused tourists in their giant sun hats listening to some random faux-enthusiastic guide on a loudspeaker, Betty pushes a flyaway strand of hair behind her ear and waves back at them, willing to make the effort to push the fantasy of friendly city folk for a few minutes of the day.

Satisfied by the exchange, she leans back, holding onto the guard rail. Although she volunteers for food pantries and occasionally runs in charity marathons, it’s the little moments that make her feel the best. When a baby giggles at a funny face she feels younger. If Veronica pauses mid-plot to swoon over Betty's latest blog post, she feels like she's glowing.

With another deep breath of fresh river water mixed with the pollution of the city, Betty feels ready to take on the rest of the day. Hoping to get one last look at the hot photographer for the road, she looks over, only to be met with the flash of a lens instead of a profile. Of course, he swivels a little once she catches him. Like he’s panning instead of pointing.

Part of her is flattered, but it doesn’t make a whole lot of sense. He was taking photographs of the river and architecture from what she saw. Why would he point it at people? She looks behind her to the benches, the overpriced chain restaurants, the train station entrances further down the way, trying to make sense of it.

He lowers the camera and fiddles with the viewfinder, absently pushing his messy curls out of his face.

Maybe he just likes blondes. It’s not the worst excuse she can think of.

Although the odds certainly aren’t in her favor, she’s in a good mood, so she figures there’s nothing to lose in approaching this _ one _person for a photo for her blog, especially since he’s a photographer.

Putting on her most convincing, confident, smile, Betty strides across the bridge towards him. “Excuse me.” He starts, holding his camera near his face for a moment like he isn’t used to people talking to him. The guardedness makes her feel like he isn’t sure if she’s about to try and sell him something. “I know this will sound a little strange, but do you mind if I take a photo of you for my blog?”

He quirks an eyebrow, lowering the camera to reveal an almost startling amount of _ pretty _up close.

Long eyelashes. Sweet cheekbones. Beauty spots. The guy could probably be a model in his own right.

It’s not like Betty’s never seen a hot guy before, so her smile doesn’t falter, but her heart does flutter.

Shifting uncomfortably, he sort of zig-zags over her stature like he’s trying to read if she’s about to try and shove him over the safety guard. “Is this blog something like _ Weirdo Guys Who Lurk In Public Places _?”

“Are you _ weird _ ?” She tilts her head, _ almost _ flirting. “Because I am of the school of thought that everyone’s at least a _ little _bizarre. Hopefully not Norman Bates level, but…”

He chuckles, relaxing a little. “We all go a little mad sometimes,” he says in a wistful, theatrical way, pausing in alarm. “Oh, that’s a quote.”

“I know. Hopefully, it’s not a mantra.”

His laugh is great, as is his boyish grin, even though he hides it a little by tilting his chin down. “Not quite. So what is this photo for?” Even though he’s fiddling with the lens, she can tell he’s listening intently, Adam’s apple bobbing.

“My blog is called _ Small Wonders_. It’s just little moments through the day that make me happy, so maybe they’ll make someone else happy, too.”

“And you want a picture of _ me_?”

Prickling, she realizes what it sounds like. “It just seems like a good opportunity to show that some people can reframe things in a positive light. It doesn’t have to be your face or anything.” He laughs incredulously at that. “I don’t mean—_ wow_, I just mean that you could have your camera covering things to make you more anonymous if you wanted to be.”

“What would _ you _ like me to be?”

She shrugs. “I think you have a nice face. I’m Betty, by the way.”

“Jughead.” As she eyes him, he clears his throat. “You have a nice face too.”

“Thank you.” He doesn’t seem to know where to look, focusing instead on the river as he twists the lens back and forth in nerves. “So? May I?”

“Uh, maybe. Just do me a favor and take it on _ my _ phone so I can have final approval and send it.”

“So thorough,” she notes, teasing. “There are easier ways of getting my number.”

His lip quirks in amusement. “Am I that transparent?”

“I might’ve also seen you taking a candid of me, earlier.”

“Oof, I’ve been caught. Do you think I can get away with saying it’s for my blog?” He squints, adorably sarcastic.

“May I see it?”

His smirk seems impossibly large as he nods. The image of a father carrying a baby flashes through her mind as he delicately readjusts the neck strap to cradle his camera. After a few seconds of fumbling that make the fine hairs along her body stand on end in anticipation, he tilts the screen for her to see the photo.

She’s smiling and waving down at the boat, the sunlight making her skin glow, her hair whipping out in the breeze. There’s something encouraging in the moment. Vibrant. Pure. Maybe even a little freeing.

He clears his throat. “Small wonder.” Blinking, surprised, she smiles up at him. “That’s what I’d call this photo if I hung it in a gallery.”

“Maybe I should use this one, then.”

“Maybe you should.”

Biting her lip, Betty sidles up a little closer to him. “What other photos do you have on there?”

“I feel like you’re trying to poach my life’s work.” He grins, thumbing through the files.

There’s nothing to lose by engaging in a little hopeful banter. Betty feels brave enough to gently touch the small of his back. “How can I make it up to you?”

Their eyes meet, his blue ones sparkling with the same hopeful glint as the river. “You could start with a coffee.”

The fluttering in her chest works its way up until her cheeks hurt from smiling. “Maybe walk around afterwards? I still have to get that candid.”

~~~

He takes his coffee black and tells her about the photos that he’s using to set the scene for his novel. The conversation flows without the interview-esque tendencies she falls into on dates. Jughead actually asks about her life, he _listens _and responds intelligently, building on the conversation to help her open up about her own interests to interweave them with shared ones. Apparently, one of his friends runs a gallery downtown where he’s showcasing some noir city shots.

Fiddling nervously with the sleeve on his coffee, he shrugs. “It might be fun, if you want to go.”

“Go with you? As a plus one?”

“Y--yeah. Maybe. I mean, we should probably have a few warm-up dates first, since the gallery isn’t for another two weeks. Gotta make sure you’re the right kind of weirdo.”

She laughs, pushing on his shoulder. Jughead’s cute and he picks up on the _ touching _thing pretty quickly without being handsy. He leans in to hear her better, smiling when she brushes her hand over his knee or wrist. He puts his arm around her shoulder or waist to guide her when they’re walking on the street. Everything feels comfortable, way easier than it ever has with her dates in the past. There’s some kind of flow going on. He catches her trying to take candids of him a few times, his mouth twitching in a barely-concealed laugh as he protests, “That one’s unusable. You’ll have to keep following me around to try again. The art of candids is a careful science. I’ll have to educate you.”

When they get back to her building, he leans up against the column of her door looking like an absolute snack. She has to keep telling herself that dragging him upstairs to rip off his tank top probably isn’t the best way to start a relationship, even if a tiny voice inside of herself thinks that might not be the worst thing.

His cheeky sense of humor brings out the shine in his smile. “Just so you know, I’m holding these photos hostage until I get a proper chance to deep-dive your blog.”

“In that case, I’m keeping all the candids, so…”

He shifts an inch or two closer. “Holding me hostage?”

“Are you saying you wouldn't come willingly?” She feels almost _ shy _ looking up at him under her lashes.

Chuckling, he runs a hand through his hair. “No. It depends on the snacks.”

“What if I threw a kiss into the mix?”

Inhaling sharply, Jughead moves in, barely even able to get out an excited, “Okay,” as his hand navigates to her waist. She dips towards him, halfway convinced she should give him a demure peck on the cheek before she gets intoxicated by the closeness and just presses her mouth to his. It’s sweet, short, but she lingers, kissing him again. She can _ feel _his cheeks spread in a smile under her fingers, giddiness bubbling up inside of her at the way his hands spread across her waist.

"Okay." Feeling bashful, she slides back and fumbles for the door. She's _ never _ kissed on the first date. Jughead's something else, though. Veronica and Kevin would be proud.

"Call me?" His hopeful plea is only half a joke.

"Okay," she repeats, grinning like an idiot.

If she stands here any longer wobbling with the door, she's going to invite him in, so she darts inside and waves at his widening smile.

Her heart's still pounding by the time she walks up the two flights of stairs to her apartment. Her phone rings with a text from Jughead.

"I know it's probably breaking some kind of unspoken rule to text you so soon, but how do you feel about dinner tomorrow night? There's a place on Madison that has a great chicken kebob."

Warmth blooms in her chest and she presses the phone to it. No games. Not that she can see yet, anyway. He owned up to taking a picture of her, has a great sense of humor, seems incredibly kind, well-read, attractive...

Before she can think too much about it, Betty hits the _ dial _ button, breaking normal phone etiquette to call him back.

“Betty, hey! Wasn’t expecting to hear from you so soon.” His voice is warm, welcoming, something she wants to cradle close to her cheek and her heart.

“Yes to tomorrow, but what are you doing for dinner tonight?”

“Um, nothing! You want to go somewhere? I’m not sure many places would appreciate my casual-chic cameraman motif.”

“Why don’t we order in?” When he pauses, she hurries to fill the silence. “Then you wouldn’t have to worry about your camera or your outfit. We could watch something or…” She tugs nervously on her hair, pacing in the stairwell. “There’s a place around the corner that’s got a little bit of everything if you’re worried about changing. Or we could wait until tomorrow.”

“I think ordering in sounds great,” he says carefully, like he’s hiding a smile. “I’ll pick the restaurant if you pick the movie.”

“Deal! I’m on the third floor but I’ll come down to get you.”

“Can’t wait.”

Bouncing on her toes, Betty ends the call and hurries back down the stairs. When she sees him, hands in his pockets, waiting outside the building’s door, her heart rate picks up even more than when she was climbing the stairs.

Practically skipping, breathless, she lets him in. “Hi.”

His smile melts her. “Hi.”

After an electric moment of just grinning at each other, they lean in to kiss each other’s cheeks, hovering afterwards, glancing at each other’s lips.

_ Upstairs_, she thinks, and takes his hand.

**Author's Note:**

> No aesthetic. Just fluff. Do you have images from the internet or imagination you imagine being on their rolls? What about Betty's blog? Thoughts are my sustenance if you feel like throwing me some crumbs. Or a sandwich. I like those. Tumble with me @lovedinapastlife if you like


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